


Recovery

by Guanin



Series: Limping Forward [2]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Angst, Asexual Character, Fluff, Grief/Mourning, Loss of Parent(s), M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-08
Updated: 2016-04-08
Packaged: 2018-06-01 01:12:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6495001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Guanin/pseuds/Guanin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a month with little communication between them, Jim asks to spend Christmas at Oswald's house. This unexpected visit redefines their relationship in a way neither of them expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Recovery

Oswald swirled the wine in his glass. The liquid splashed in the cylindrical space, a glaze of burgundy remaining on the transparent surface for a second after it had passed by. 

Christmas Eve was five days away and his mother was dead. 

He brought the glass up to his lips and drained the remainder, barely tasting the bitterness as it slid down his throat. In the weeks since he and Jim had killed Galavan, he had gathered back his scattered empire and had been putting out fires ever since. With the aid of a hasty retraction from former Mayor James right before he disappeared into the ether, courtesy of Oswald, the GCPD failed to collect sufficient evidence against him to effect an arrest warrant. James had been very cooperative when Oswald had first declared himself king of Gotham, so he had landed James somewhere in Europe for his pains. He had not seen Jim since that morning in his apartment building, but Jim had dropped him a line here and there. Sure, half of them had been about his department’s deteriorating case against Oswald, but it was a small sign that Jim had decided not to scorn all contact with him. It provided some small comfort even now as he sat in front of the fireplace watching the flames flicker, the tips cutting away in wisps of smoke, only for fresh flames to grow anew just below them. If he were feeling philosophical, he might be inclined to wax lyrical about the occurrence, but exhaustion and grief still scalded his eyes, sometimes as fresh as the moment when it had happened. 

His cellphone buzzed on the side table. He ignored it. It buzzed again. He should answer it. It could be business related. He had to keep moving forward. His mother would have wanted it that way, even though she would never have approved of the means. But his suffocating ennui vanished when he saw the name on the caller ID.

“Hi, Jim,” he said on the phone, cheer he had not felt in weeks lighting up his voice and making him sit up straighter on in his chair. 

“Hey,” Jim said. “How are you?”

“As well as can be expected. And you?”

“I’m alright. Listen, this is probably an odd question, but are you spending Christmas with anyone?”

“Um… I wasn’t planning on it. Not under the circumstances.”

With mother gone, who was there to spend it with?

“I thought that might be the case. Look, my first Christmas after my dad died was miserable. I don’t mean to compare, but I know the holiday probably feels like the most painful thing in the world right now. It’s not a good time to be alone. So I thought, maybe I could come over on Christmas Eve. Keep you company.”

Oswald sat up straighter in his seat. Jim wanted to keep him company. On Christmas Eve. He smiled, a familiar soreness squeezing his throat.

“Yes,” he said. “Of course you can come over. I would really appreciate that. Thank you.”

“No problem. Just trying to help out. I’ll call you later to tell you at what time I’m heading over, okay?”

“Okay.”

“I’ll see you.”

“Bye.”

``````````````

Oswald ordered one of every kind of pie from his favorite baker. His chef was to arrange all the trimmings of a wonderful Christmas dinner. He even had some Christmas decorations put up. Only the basics since he was in mourning, but mother wouldn’t begrudge him a Christmas tree and a wreath at the front door when he was going to have company over. And such company it was. After Jim had asked him to leave so abruptly last month, he had hesitated to harbor any great expectations for their friendship. A Christmas visit had certainly not been among them. For the rest of the week, he couldn’t help fearing that a cancelation would be forthcoming. When Jim called him again the day before Christmas Eve, he answered with some trepidation, but Jim confirmed the visit and said that he would come by at 6pm. 

But the weather forecast for Christmas Eve turned gloomy. The morning awoke grey and dark, a thick sheet of clouds dropping a curtain of snow onto the city. The weather person predicted accumulation of up to five inches on Christmas Day, with sharp gusts picking up as early as tonight. The current snow petered out around noon, but the weather was so fickle. It might return earlier than predicted, making the roads treacherous. Regret heavy in his heart, he called Jim to suggest that it might be safer if he didn’t come, but Jim assured him that it would be fine. 

“The heavy snow doesn’t get here until tomorrow,” Jim said. “And the snowplows have already cleared the streets. I can drive in this, no problem.”

But could he drive in what might be falling when it was time for him to leave? Well, if the conditions were too hazardous, Oswald would insist that he stay over. He would lock him in if he had to. 

At 5:45, Oswald was already loitering in the foyer, dressed in his green lapelled suit. He had considered putting on his best chalk stripe, but Jim might interpret it as ostentations on his part. Possibly even rude since Jim couldn’t afford anything close to matching, and Oswald wouldn’t risk offending him. Besides, this was a simple Christmas dinner. Small. Comfortable. Nothing fancy (despite the $20 pies). A nice dinner between friends, or so he dared hope. 

At 6:13, Jim’s car finally pulled up into the driveway. Oswald quickly closed the curtain. He had been peering out one of the front windows for the past ten minutes, worrying about the increasing snowfall. It had begun again about half an hour ago, getting breezier by the minute. None of his men were around to witness such emotional behavior, of course. He was down to a skeleton crew because of the holiday. Everyone who celebrated Christmas and had a family they wished to spend it with was with them. He wasn’t going to begrudge his employees that. He maintained enough people for security, of course (he employed enough non-Christian personnel for the task), but he had left it to himself to answer the door, which he swiftly positioned himself to do as soon as he rushed away from the window. He straightened his jacket and hung his arms loosely at his sides. 

The bell rang. He waited a few moments to step forward. It would be too obvious that he had been waiting at the door if he answered immediately, but he also didn’t want to leave Jim standing out in the cold. 

“Hello,” he said, as he opened the door, a bright smile on his face. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas,” Jim said, returning the smile. This one was wider than the last one. 

“Please come in.”

Oswald stepped back to let Jim do so and shut the door. Jim brushed off the stray snowflakes on his hair and unwound his grey scarf from around his neck.

“You gave the doorman the day off?” Jim asked.

“Many of my employees are with their families. I have enough of a crew for security purposes, but for the next couple of days, I’m keeping it simple.”

“Sounds good. Sorry I’m a little late. The snow is slowing down traffic.”

“Not a problem. That’s how bad weather days go. I understand. Can I take your coat and scarf?”

“Sure.”

Jim handed him the asked for items and Oswald placed them in the coat closet to the left of the door. 

“Do you want to eat now?” he asked as he closed the door. “Everything is being kept warm in the kitchen.”

“That’d be great.”

They went to the kitchen. The chef had left everything on the stove to be reheated as necessary. Oswald had given him the rest of the night off after he finished. They shouldn’t be requiring anything else, and he preferred to be alone with Jim. Four pots sat on the burners. One contained glazed ham, another roasted turkey, mashed potatoes, green bean casserole, and two saucers held cranberry sauce and gravy. 

“Serve yourself anything you want,” Oswald said, handing Jim a plate from the cabinet.

“I’m half tempted to start with those,” Jim said, gazing at the pies stacked on the counter beside the saucers. 

Oswald had initially planned on removing them all from their boxes and displaying them on the island in the center of the kitchen, as well as presenting the food on the grand, steel silverware that he bought along with the house, but he quickly scrapped that idea. Jim wouldn’t go for that sort of thing. He’d likely prefer simple presentation, more like a family gathering, although, of course, this wasn’t that at all. 

“Now, Jim,” Oswald said, grabbing a plate for himself as he adopted a mock lecture tone. “A properly balanced meal comes first.”

“Fine.” Jim placed a slice of ham on his plate. “But I’m going light with the potatoes to fit in at least two slices of pie. Are all those for tonight or are they for the whole month? You have like eight pies there.”

“I may have gone overboard buying so many.”

His food orders had been rather heavy since Galavan. Even now, his waistcoat pulled a little tighter than he liked, but he couldn’t care less right now. It was Christmas and he would indulge himself with as much pie as he wished. He could sort out his eating habits later. 

“I’m not complaining,” Jim said. “I can eat half a pie in one sitting. Mom always has to—um, tell me to stop.“ 

An awkward expression pinched his face and he looked steadfastly the bean casserole he was serving. 

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t bring up parents right now.”

“That’s okay. It’s fine. You can talk about her. I’m glad that you have a living mother that you can talk about.”

Oswald buried his thoughts in scooping up mashed potatoes, ignoring the sudden soreness in the back of his throat. It would be gone soon. He just had moments. But the tears didn’t always come anymore, thankfully.

“Are you going to see her tomorrow?” he asked.

“I was going to.”

Oswald felt Jim carefully watching him from the corner of his eye.

“But she lives upstate,” Jim continued. “That’s where the family gets together for Christmas. The roads are going to be too icy for me to drive there. I already called her and told her I’ll go see her next weekend, provided that the weather behaves itself.” 

So Jim wouldn’t be able to spend Christmas with his mother. But he could still see her a few days from now, like he said. At least one of them still had a mother that they could speak to, see, hug. Oswald set down the turkey fork and took a step to the left toward the pies before stopping himself. 

No. He would eat first and then have desert. What would his mother say if she saw him mix the two on the same plate? She would be appalled. He would give his entire empire to hear her scold him just one more time. 

“I’m sorry that you won’t be able to see her tomorrow,” Oswald said. 

Thank God his sorrow didn’t show in his voice.

“It’s okay,” Jim said. “I’ll call her again tomorrow. Where are we eating, by the way? Your giant dining table?”

“It’s not giant. It’s perfectly sized for the room. But we don’t have to eat there."

Oswald led him to his favorite room in the house. Half study, half library, it stretched to about the size of his dining room, but with two much smaller tables, one of which was his work desk. Books lined the wood paneled walls in tall shelves. A couple of comfortable lounge chairs sat before them. He had whiled away many an hour reading away in them. Amber gold Tiffany table lamps gave the room a warm glow if one wished for a respite from the ceiling light. But the room’s most remarkable feature were the double glazed glass doors opening out to the vast yard space behind the house. It was nothing much compared to Falcone's, but it was a good size, with a few respectable hedges and a fountain, all covered with snow, providing a pretty, winter landscape, complete with a background of pine trees at the edge of the property.

"Nice room," Jim said, looking around as he placed his plate alongside Oswald's on the non-work table. "I figured you were a reader, but this is quite a lot of books. Have you read all of them?"

"Almost. Some of them are newer purchases that I haven't had the chance to read yet."

Jim ambled in front of one of the book cases, regarding the titles, then passed to the glass doors. He cupped his hands around his face by the glass.

"I can turn off the light so you can see better," Oswald said. 

“That would help. Thanks.”

Oswald flipped the switch off, then carefully made his way around the furniture to stand beside Jim, who had lowered his hands. A typical winter landscape lied in front of them. White covered everything, which had its own seasonal appeal, although he would grow tired of it pretty soon. Snow had never been his favorite, more hindrance than charm, but there was a certain appeal to it during Christmas, especially now that he could drive instead of slipping on the city streets. It snowed still, a steady breeze depositing large tuffs onto the hedgerows and the paths, which had been invisible for days now. The city’s light illuminated the expanse, giving the snow a slight, creamy glow. 

“That’s quite a view you’ve got here,” Jim said. 

“Thank you. I’m hoping to get some more landscaping done in spring. My mother…” 

His voice caught for a second and he stood up straighter to get the rest of the words out. 

“She wanted to plant a flower garden, but the timing was wrong, she said. It would be better to wait until the spring. She can’t do it anymore, but I will in her memory. Lilies especially. Those were her favorite.”

He felt Jim gaze at him, but he didn’t turn around. He didn’t want to be comforted right now.

“I’m sure that it will look beautiful,” Jim said. “This is a great space for it.”

“It is.”

“It must be nice to be out there in the summer. You don’t get anything like this in the city.”

“You like the outdoors?” 

“I like getting out every once in a while. I don’t get much chance to, but it’s nice.” 

“Well, you can come by here any time.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re more than welcome after what you’ve done for me.”

Jim turned away from the doors, so Oswald went to turn the light back on.

“What would you like to drink?” Oswald asked. 

“I don’t suppose you have some beer, do you?” 

The subject of alcoholic substances had come up during Oswald’s stay at Jim’s place, in which he had made clear that beer was very much not his kind of thing. 

“Gabe puts some in the fridge sometimes. But I didn’t notice if there’s any now. I’ll check.”

“If there isn’t, whatever you’re having is fine.”

“I’m having some Bordeaux.”

“That works.”

Luckily, Gabe hadn’t had a chance to finish of his beer stash in the fridge (Oswald would refill it later), so he brought over two different ones for Jim to choose from. Jim had mentioned in their previous conversation what kind of beer he preferred, but since Oswald was ignorant about the minutiae of beers (they all tasted the same to him), he had no idea what kind any of these were. 

When he returned to the study, Jim was gazing out of the glass doors again. The light was still on, his hands tucked in his pockets. With the illumination, the glass was just a giant mass of black. There was nothing for Jim to look at. Oswald frowned, but he quickly schooled his concern away as he walked into the room. Jim turned around at the sound of his steps.

“I brought you some options,” Oswald said, holding up the beer bottles. He clutched them both in his right hand, as he needed his left for his wine glass.

“Oh, thanks.” Jim came over to inspect the bottles. “You could have just grabbed one.”

“And risked you not liking my selection? Or course not.”

“It would make us even for my coffee snafu.”

A quick, self-deprecating smile flashed over Jim’s lips.

“Please, you hardly forced me to drink it. And you provided an alternative.”

Jim grabbed the Blue Moon from Oswald’s left hand.

“I’ll take this one, then.”

Oswald filed away the beer’s name for future reference and placed the other one on a legal pad on his desk. He put two coasters on the table and they sat down. 

“I have half a mind to go out there,” Jim said, “and build a snowman one of these days. With a carrot nose and everything.”

Oswald mentally shuddered at the ruination of his elegant lawn via tacky snowman, but his chewing slowed as he realized that Jim had just implied a future visit in which he played in Oswald’s yard as if he were home. A warm, fuzzy feeling sparked in his stomach.

“Well,” he said, smothering the huge grin that threatened to grow on his face because it would be much too obvious. “I would prefer something more dignified than a carrot nose, but you can build a snowman if you want. Of course. It’s not like I’m using the lawn for anything else at the moment.”

And if he had company over and they thought less of his lawn because of the snowman, fuck them.

Jim raised a brow at him in surprise.

“Okay,” he said. “I’ll keep that in mind. It’d be nice. I haven’t built a snowman in years. Since college, I think. How about you? Did you build them when you were a kid?”

“Sometimes.”

When the kids at the park left him in peace long enough to let him make one.

“We lived in an apartment,” he continued. “So I didn’t often get the chance to.”

“You can make up for lost time now.”

“I think I would rather wave at you from in here while sipping a warm cup of tea.”

“Not a snow guy, huh?”

“I prefer not being cold.”

And the low temperatures made his right leg even more miserable. His left shoulder was hardly pain-free, either, a furious ache wracking his injured bones every time that he stepped out into the bitter chill.

“Fair enough,” Jim said. “I’ll make another one in your name. Put one of your ties on it.”

Oswald tensed.

“James Gordon, if you ruin one of my silk ties by putting it on a hunk of snow, I will have Gabe pick you up and throw you out of this house.”

Jim chuckled. 

“Alright, I’ll leave your ties alone. I’ll just give it one of your umbrellas.”

They continued chatting amicably throughout dinner, joking at times. It was nice. Pleasant. Oswald had not smiled this much since before everything happened. It felt like being back at Jim’s apartment enjoying a meal while Jim did his best to live up to his promise to be a true friend to him, only with less pain. After they had cleaned their plates, they returned to the kitchen and Jim suggested that they watch a movie while eating their pie, so Oswald took him to what would be best described as his living room. About half the size of his study, it housed a TV, a small table with plain, wood chairs, a couple of sofas, and an old fashioned radio with a record player attached. And, as of two days ago, a Christmas tree decorated with silver colored spherical and swirl shaped ornaments, with a bright star at its top. 

The room was part of his personal lodgings, so no one was allowed in without his permission. As a nod to the holiday, they put on Home Alone, which was only fifteen minutes in when they found it playing on TBS. The original A Miracle on 34th Street was also playing. That had been his mother’s favorite Christmas film. She watched it every Christmas Day. It felt a tad disloyal not to watch it now, but seeing the title on the channel guide made his throat scratchy, and he did not want to feel this pain right now. Jim was here. Oswald was content. For the moment, at least. Besides, he didn’t want to subject Jim to further waterworks, not after he had driven through a snowstorm to be here, which Oswald didn’t quite understand. Yes, Jim had continued to be a friend to him despite his abrupt departure from his apartment, but this visit was hardly required, especially in this weather. He was also tired, apparently, for halfway through the movie, Oswald turned his head to find him sound asleep on the couch next to him, his head tipped to the side toward Oswald. Not close enough to rest on Oswald’s shoulders. They weren’t sitting that close, unfortunately. Thankfully. Waking up to an unconscious Jim cuddling him had rattled him enough. 

Oswald let him sleep until the movie was done, then he gently shook his shoulder. Jim opened his eyes, frowning, then scrunched them closed again as he muttered, “Aw, shit.” He sat up from his slouching position and glanced at Oswald, apology in his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep. I didn’t sleep well last night.”

“No apology needed. I fall asleep myself sometimes while watching TV.”

Jim leaned forward, rubbing his face.

“What time is it?”

“Just after 9.”

Jim stood up.

“I should get going.”

Oswald stood up as well. 

“We should check the conditions of the roads first. It hasn’t stopped snowing since you arrived.”

As was evident by the thick blanket of snow on Jim’s car. It was parked near the front entrance, which was also covered in so much snow that no one could tell that the whole driveway had been shoveled clean this morning. The wind had picked up and was blowing snowdrifts so harshly that they were almost parallel to the ground. The weather report warned that conditions were dicey and that traveling should be avoided unless absolutely necessary. This is why he hadn’t wanted Jim to come. Oswald would be a knot of worry if he tried to get back home in this. 

“You could spend the night here,” Oswald said, turning down the volume on the TV as a commercial came on. “It’s not safe for you to be driving in this weather.”

“Are you sure that’s not too much of an imposition? If I stay tonight, I might have to stay tomorrow, too. The snow is only going to get worse.”

“Jim, you sheltered me while I was grieving for my mother with a bullet hole in my shoulder. This is no imposition at all. You’re welcome to stay here for as long as you need.”

 _Stay here forever._

But there was no point entertaining that dream. 

Jim regarded him for a moment, then nodded, a half smile pulling on his lips.

“Okay,” he said. “I’ll stay.”

Oswald smiled.

“I’m happy to hear that.”

“So.” Jim started moving toward the door. “Since I’m not going anywhere, I’m going to go get myself another piece of pie.”

Oswald joined him in his pie acquisition. Despite his stomach being very well sated, he still wanted to eat. He always wanted to eat these days. Ignoring how his pant waist tugged a little too tightly around him, he helped himself to another two pieces of apple pie. They took their dessert back to the living room and watched some TV, then played cards. A couple of rummy games. King’s Corners. One that Jim learned in the army that Oswald didn’t know. They laughed some more. Oswald dared to pretend that this could be one night out of many and that the veil wouldn’t lift once the clock chimed midnight. Jim was staying, after all. Oswald had tomorrow morning, at least. 

Jim started yawning around 10:30. The yawning increased, badly hidden behind a raised hand until Oswald finally gathered all the cards after finishing a game and left them on the table, unshuffled.

“It’s time for bed, I think,” he said.

Jim rubbed the back of his neck, leaning on the table on his elbow. His whole body slouched forward, exhaustion pulling him downward.

“I think you’re right,” Jim said, weariness in his voice.

He stood up.

“So I was thinking,” Oswald said, standing with him. “I have a couple of spare bedrooms.”

“More than a couple, I’m sure, in this big house.” 

“Well, yes, but only two of the spare ones have beds made. And I can lend you some pajamas. I’m afraid that all the tops are long sleeved, though.”

He’d only seen Jim sleeping in t-shirts, although he had hardly asked if that was his regular attire. He might usually sleep in his underwear or less for all he knew. 

“That’s okay. I can roll the sleeves up.”

They went upstairs. Oswald showed him one of the guest bedrooms, then went to his room to grab the pajamas. As he was rummaging in the drawer, he heard Jim enter behind him. He turned around. Jim smiled apologetically.

“Sorry,” he said. “I got curious.”

“That’s alright.” Oswald smiled back. “I was in your bedroom for days, after all. Look around, if you like.”

“There’s certainly a lot to look at.”

Jim wandered around the room, regarding the elaborate furnishings and the engraved fireplace. He stopped in front of the bed and touched one of the posts, tapping it lightly with his fingers. A frisson shivered on Oswald’s skin at the sight, but he shoved any fantasies he wished to entertain away before they could materialize.

“Here are the pajamas,” he said, stepping forward.

Jim turned around and took them from Oswald.

“Thanks,” he said.

But he didn’t move. He stood there, staring at the clothes in his hands, uncertainty falling over his face.

“Jim? Is anything wrong?”

Jim looked up at him. His eyes were guarded, yet raw at the same time, seeking something in Oswald. 

“I was just…” Jim’s voice petered out. “Wondering. Never mind.”

He stepped away, advancing toward the door.

“Wondering what?” Oswald asked before he could get too far, a knot twisting in his stomach.

“Nothing. I’m just tired. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“Jim, you can ask me for anything. You know that. What is it?”

Jim stopped. Oswald rushed toward him, frowning at the reluctance on Jim’s face. Jim glanced down at the pajamas again, then lowered them to his side.

“It’s just a little weird to ask,” he said, “since you already showed me to a guest bedroom, but I thought.” Jim licked his bottom lip, a reflex Oswald had noticed before. “Maybe I could sleep in here with you. I know it’s presumptuous of me. The only reason why we shared a bed before was because there was only one and you had nightmares and insisted. Now there is another bed, so there’s no need for this. It’s probably just the sleep deprivation talking.”

Oswald had been gaping during that entire speech. His cheeks felt warm. Were they red? Oh God, please don’t let his cheeks be red. Why would Jim want to sleep here? He had never shown any interest in him. He did just mean sleep, right? He didn’t want to do… other things. But why would he even want to do other things? Jim had just recently grown to be civil toward him. There had to be a more reasonable explanation. 

“Why would you want to sleep here?” Oswald asked, barely keeping his sudden panic out of his voice. He pointedly did not say “sleep with me” because that alluded to a whole other set of connotations that he did not want to contemplate. 

Jim shuffled the pajamas around in his hands, then crossed his arms, the clothes clutched in his right hand.

“I haven’t been sleeping well lately,” he said, gazing at the opposite wall. “I sleep better with someone beside me. And we’ve done that before, so it’s not like it would be weird. Except for the completely different circumstances.”

Oh. Jim did just want to sleep. Well, that was a relief. Sleeping was good. Sleeping with Jim next to him, with a Jim who wanted to be next to him, was exactly what he wanted to do. Well, not everything, but he held no hope of a mutual understanding in that area, so he didn’t let himself dwell on it. 

“Oh,” he said, a small smile bursting on his face. “Well, that’s alright then. You can sleep here.”

“Really?”

Oswald’s smile widened at the adorable frown on Jim’s face. 

“Yes. The bed is more than big enough for two.”

A fact that often gnawed at his peace of mind as he lied in it waiting for sleep and let his guard down enough to let the hopeless fantasies creep in. 

“I’ll get ready for bed, too,” he said, returning to the cabinet to take out a fresh pair of pajamas.

“Thank you,” Jim said behind him. “I didn’t expect you to say yes. It’s not exactly a normal request.”

“Normal isn’t a concept that applies much in our interactions with each other, wouldn’t you say?”

“I guess not.”

A few minutes later, they were tucked into bed. Jim had gotten in first, raising the sheets up around his torso as he lied on his left side, facing outward, and Oswald spared a few glorious moments to contemplate the sight of Jim in his bed, wearing his blue, silk pajamas, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Jim had already closed his eyes, looking as peaceful as Oswald had been in Jim’s bed. Oswald turned off the lights, hiding his smile in the ensuing darkness. Of course, he reminded himself as he climbed onto the opposite side of the bed, this event did not have the same significance for Jim as it did for him. So elated by Jim’s request earlier, he had not paused to consider an explanation for it, but now, as he rested with Jim beside him once again, his mind grew rife with speculation. 

Jim had said that he hadn’t been sleeping well lately. How much time did the word “lately” encompass? The last week? The last month? Since he had asked Oswald to leave his apartment? Had he found someone else to sleep beside in the meantime? The present circumstances suggested that was a no. Perhaps it was a simple as it looked. Jim had grown comfortable with him as a sleeping partner and he just wanted to get a good night’s sleep. But how many things were that simple, really? Oswald hadn’t forgotten Jim’s protestation when Oswald accused him of finding the thought of sleeping next to him unpleasant. “That’s not why” he had said before cutting himself off. Had he merely tried to be polite by claiming that he felt otherwise? Or did he in truth? And if he did, why hadn’t he wanted to share a bed? The best answer that Oswald had come up with, that Jim didn’t like sleeping with someone who wasn’t a sexual partner, was being proven wrong this very moment. Perhaps it had been politeness, then. 

`````````````

Oswald awoke to gentle sunlight behind his eyelids. The heavy drapes covering the windows blocked most of it out, but a small amount still managed to filter in. He stretched his head to the side. He’d shifted onto his back at some point in the night, which left him only a small distance away from Jim, who was also lying flat, his arms up around his head, eyes open. He turned his head as Oswald shifted on the bed. 

“Morning,” Jim said. 

“Good morning.”

Oswald pressed his hands down on the mattress, but resisted the urge to push himself up into a sitting position. He didn’t really want to sit up, but meeting Jim’s eyes as they lied in bed together first thing in the morning overwhelmed him so. All the times at Jim’s apartment, Jim either got up before Oswald woke or left the bed as soon as he did. They had never lounged, exchanging greetings while still enjoying the comforts of a warm bed with the somnolence of the night still clinging to them. 

“Did you sleep well?” Oswald asked. 

“Yes. I got my full complement last night. Thanks for letting me sleep here.”

“You’re welcome. I’m glad that you finally got some rest.”

“Me, too. I’m tempted to steal this bed from you. It’s ridiculously comfortable.”

Oswald grinned.

“You can try, but I’m pretty sure you can’t carry it out on your own.”

“Your men would probably throw me in the dungeon, too.”

“I don’t have a dungeon.”

“Are you sure? This place of yours is certainly palatial enough.”

“Please, it’s not even as big as Falcone’s old house.”

A matter that he would rectify one day, but there were budget considerations at the moment. 

“Besides,” Oswald continued, “my people would never throw you anywhere.”

“I have immunity, huh?”

“Well, up to a point. I will not be pleased if you build a ten foot snowman out front.”

Which Jim had actually threatened to do as a reward if he won three straight hands of rummy, which, thankfully, he did not. 

Jim chuckled and lowered his arms.

Silence settled around them. Oswald rested his hands on the blanket, kneading at the fabric, his good cheer starting to fade as he forced himself to remember what date it was.

“It’s Christmas,” he said.

Jim turned to him.

“How are you doing?” he asked.

Oswald shrugged. 

“Not great.”

After a moment, Jim sat up on the bed.

“I got you something,” he said, standing up. “It’s in my coat.”

Oswald sat up, too.

“I got you something as well,” he said.

“Be right back.”

While Jim went downstairs to retrieve his gift, Oswald grabbed his own from the dresser and he drew back the curtains, letting in the morning light. Not that the sun was shining exactly. White grey clouds draped the sky in a thick film, dropping more snow onto them. The wind had abated some, but the thick clumps of snow descending had not. Snow dunes covered the back lawn, the wind having shaped the snow into valleys and crests that rose and dipped among the hedges, which were little more than bumps in the landscape. 

“My car is covered in like half a foot of snow,” Jim said as he reentered the room. “If it keeps coming down like this, you’re going to be stuck with me until tomorrow.”

“I don’t have a problem with that.”

Had his tone come out a little coquettish? Jim seemed a little taken aback. 

Shit. 

Then Jim smiled. Oh, good. It was one of his small, making an effort smiles, but it was a smile. They were fine. Besides, if Jim suspected that Oswald felt for him that way, he wouldn’t have asked to sleep here. 

“I got you this,” Jim said, holding out a small, thin box. “I don’t know if merry Christmas is the right thing to say considering things.”

“They aren’t the circumstances I want, but you’re keeping me company, so there’s a merry element to it.”

Oswald held out Jim’s present, smiling.

“Merry Christmas,” he said.

Jim smiled back.

“Merry Christmas.”

They unwrapped their respective boxes. As soon as Oswald grabbed the Santa print covered package, he deduced by the shape that it contained a deck of cards. He was correct. Yet they weren’t ordinary playing cards. A black and white drawing of a group of emperor penguins decorated the back. Not a simple line drawing, either, but a detailed art piece that looked like it came off a museum’s walls. It felt like a memento of their time spent playing cards together.

“I know you didn’t use to like the name,” Jim said, “but I saw the penguin toothpick holder downstairs and, since you like cards so much, I thou-- Fuck, I should have given you something nicer.”

Jim had just lifted his present out of its box: a blue, silk tie with a thin, diagonal stripe pattern. The color suited him, and his ties were always so drab.

“No, this is wonderful,” Oswald said, smiling reassuringly. “I have always admired penguins. The name was just an unhappy coincidence, but that’s different now. And the tie is hardly an extravagant gesture after all you’ve done for me. I wanted to make sure to get you something that you would like.”

“I do like it. A lot. Thank you. But… I still feel like I should have gotten you something better. This is a really nice tie.”

“Nonsense. I love this. We should play with it later.”

“Yeah.” Jim put the tie back in the box, smiling in surrender. “Sure thing.”

``````````````

They had breakfast in the living room while watching the weather report on the snowstorm. It hadn’t quite been a blizzard, but the entire city had been painted white, and more snow was falling even now. It would be a while before the snowplows fully cleared up that mess. Oswald greeted the news with joy. Not overt joy. Showing Jim how happy he was that he was staying for longer than anticipated might freak him out. So he sucked in his smile and shrugged at Jim in a “what can you do” manner.

After breakfast, Jim called his mother to wish her merry Christmas. He moved out to the hall to make the call in private and Oswald lingered on the couch, surfing through the channel guide to find a more entertaining viewing option than snow, but, predictably enough, almost everything consisted of Christmas themed programming. Which he didn’t want to see. At all. Home Alone last night had been fine, but he had changed the channel at the family reunion at the end, scrambling with the remote in his haste to get away from the imagery that he couldn’t be a part of. Channel 7 landed right in the middle of a Christmas dinner with smiling faces. He swiftly switched off the TV, but his throat was already knotting up, tears springing to his eyes. He grabbed his napkin and furiously wiped them off before they poured down his cheeks. Jim was just in the next room. He couldn’t cry now. Why did he always have to cry? Could he not cry for just one, goddamn day? 

Jim’s footsteps sounded behind him. Oswald hastily wiped his face again and lowered the napkin onto the table, but of course his eyes were red, as Jim could plainly see as he approached him. Jim frowned, cell phone held awkwardly between his hands. 

“Do you want me to give you some privacy?” Jim asked. 

“No.” Oswald cleared his throat, hoping desperately to get rid of the raspiness. “It’s fine. I want you to stay.”

“Okay.”

Jim sat down beside him, putting the phone in his pocket. Oswald opened his mouth to ask him after his mother, but he couldn’t speak without his throat closing up and his voice coming out all strangled.

“You know,” Jim said, “if you want to cry, you can. Just ignore me.”

But Oswald didn’t want to ignore him. He wanted to grab Jim close and bury his head in his chest, wrapping himself in Jim’s warmth to ride out this pain. He grabbed his glass of orange juice instead and drank it all. It soothed his sudden thirst some, yet not enough. 

“Do you want me to get you more?” Jim asked. 

“Water. But I can get it myself.”

He pushed his chair back, but Jim stood up, putting his hand on his shoulder. 

“I’ll get it,” he said, picking up the glass.

Gratitude stung in Oswald’s eyes as he watched Jim leave. He was being so kind. This last month might have gone easier if he had been around. Although he had wished to be kept in the dark about Oswald’s business as much as possible. He wasn’t fully on board yet. Might never be, really. And that was fine, as long as he didn’t suddenly come his senses and cut and run, which, knowing how changeable Jim was, was an all too real possibility.

He grabbed the cards that Jim had given him and started shuffling them. The motion always relaxed him, yet now it only marginally succeeded. The tears had stopped, but the pressure to cry remained. Jim returned, glass of water in hand. Oswald put down the cards to receive it and drank half of it. He lowered the glass onto his knee, holding it with both hands.

“Do you want to play a game?” Jim asked. 

Oswald shook his head.

“Not now.” 

He rubbed the glass with his left index finger, over and over like with the cards.

“I feel like I should be heading out to the cemetery right now,” he said. “That’s what people who have recently lost loved ones do on Christmas, isn’t it? At least, some of them. But I can’t. There’s nowhere for me to go. I couldn’t even bury her.”

He started shuffling the cards again.

“I’m sorry,” Jim said.

Oswald shook his hand.

“You don’t need to keep saying that. I should be the one saying I’m sorry. I’m being a miserable host.”

“Don’t worry about that. I wasn’t a bundle of laughs my first Christmas after dad died. I spent most of it hiding in my room. Mom had to drag me out for the annual family picture.”

“How old were you?”

“Thirteen. It happened in the summer, but I don’t like remembering the exact date.”

“That’s horribly young.”

“Yeah.”

Jim leaned back against the cushions, weaving his hands together on his stomach. He looked up at nothing. Oswald stopped shuffling, grasping the cards in his hands. He leaned back, too, resisting the urge to curl into himself. Not with company around. Although Jim had already seen him in such a state. But he didn’t want to cry. He was tired of crying, tired of everything hurting. Just tired. He put the cards on the cushions between them. They spilled over toward the back of the couch. 

“Shit,” Oswald said, scurrying to pick them up before they got lost between the cushions. “I shouldn’t have put them there.”

“It’s okay.” 

Jim grabbed the cards that were pressed against the back cushions, scooping them up before they could disappear.

“See?” Jim handed him the cards that Oswald hadn’t picked up. “All accounted for.”

“Thanks. It would be horribly ungrateful of me to lose your present only an hour after you gave it to me. I don’t want to lose anything else.”

His throat tightened again. He tried to clear it, but it wouldn’t cooperate. He fell back against the cushions, the cards clutched in his hands. 

“They’re just cards,” Jim said softly. “It wouldn’t be the end of the world.”

But they weren’t just cards. They were Jim’s cards. They represented how Jim no longer fled him like a bad smell. That meant everything. But God, he wished he weren’t being so damn obvious. Jim probably thought that he was being ridiculous clinging so to some pieces of paper. Jim didn’t know what this meant. He couldn’t know or he would run off again. 

“I know,” Oswald said, hating the gravely tone of his voice. He placed the cards on the coffee table before collapsing back on the couch. “I just really like them.”

“I know.”

Something odd in Jim’s tone made Oswald narrow his eyes and turn to him. Jim was looking down at the table, his face somehow more serious than a moment before. No, he wasn’t just looking at the table. He was looking at the cards.

“What do you mean?” Oswald said, instantly regretting the question, but it was too late. 

“I know why you like them so much,” Jim said. 

Oswald stiffened, his blood turning as icy with fear as the snow outside. He pushed himself upright, praying that it wouldn’t look like he was scrambling.

“They do have a lovely design,” he said.

“Oswald, I held onto my dad’s briefcase the same way when mom said she was going to put it into storage. I know. I’ve known since I met with you at your new club about Flass. It was impossible not to see it. But it’s fine.”

Oswald stopped breathing. When Jim looked at him, he almost jumped off the couch and fled the room in embarrassment. Jim knew. All this time Oswald had prayed that Jim would never guess his feelings, but he already knew. Was that why Jim had scowled at him with such disgust? A criminal being in love with him was too much to bear? Was that the reason why he hadn’t wanted to share his bed with Oswald? But he had last night. He had been the one to ask for it. Why? 

“Why are you telling me this now?” Oswald asked, grasping the sofa cushion. “Why did you want to sleep in my bed last night if you knew that?”

‘Look, that wasn’t—I really do sleep better with someone beside me and I haven’t slept well in ages. Lee left, then you left.”

“You practically kicked me out.”

“I’m sorry about that.”

“I don’t want an apology. I want an answer.”

Jim hesitated.

“Jim. Please.”

“I didn’t want to say it today. I didn’t want to ruin Christmas.”

“Well, you did say it and you’re ruining it a little more with every second that you don’t tell me why.”

“Because you were clinging to those cards like they were my hand and… It just slipped out, alright? And I’m tired of having this elephant in the room. It’s better that you know that I know.”

Oswald’s hands hurt from gripping the cushions so hard. 

“So you’re…” he said. “You’re okay with that?”

Jim nodded.

“Yeah.”

“But you weren’t before, were you? You didn’t want anything to do with me unless you needed my help.”

“We’ve been over all that already.”

“But this detail was missing.”

“Did you want me to make things even more awkward than they already were? We both felt bad enough as it was. I thought you would prefer it if I didn’t know since you never made a move, so I thought it best not to say anything.”

He glanced at Oswald, but Oswald turned away, terrified of finding pity in his face.

“Well,” Oswald said. “That’s not untrue. I never expected anything from you. I’m perfectly happy just being your friend.”

Not perfectly. Of course not perfectly. But he had given up hope of romantic entanglements long ago. 

“Are you sure?”

“Why are you asking me that?”

Jim shrugged, rubbing his right pant leg.

“I just want to know what you want. Since we’re clearing the air and all.”

No. There was more to this. Why avoid an unpleasant subject for so long only to bring it up now? For it had been planned. Jim had said as much. He had just erred in his timing. 

“I want you to tell me why you’re making me feel this on today of all days. Why you asked to sleep on my bed when you knew what it meant to me. Why you’re asking me if I’m sure whether all I want is friendship as if I had another option with you. You’re not attracted to me. You can’t be.”

Oswald wanted to spring up and put some distance between himself and the confusion in Jim’s eyes, but his legs weren’t working.

“Why not?” Jim asked. “I’m not actually straight. Not really. Mostly. Fuck it. I don’t know what the labels are. It doesn’t really matter.”

Oswald stared. His breath stuck in his mouth, shock robbing him of the capacity to process the magnitude of what he had just heard.

“Um…” he mumbled after a while, tongue running on autopilot. “There’s bisexual or pansexual or some people use polysexual. Or there’s heteroflexible.”

Why was he babbling? Didn’t he pride himself on thinking on his feet? Why was he losing control of his mental processes now?

Jim raised a brow at the bevy of words.

“Wow,” he said. “You know a lot of terms.”

“I’ve… Yes. They’ve come up.”

Jim’s eyes narrowed.

“Are you, um, any of them?” he asked. “I guessed that you were gay, but obviously, I could be wrong.”

“Gay. Yes. That’s one of the words that applies.”

Skin splitting terror bubbled in Oswald’s belly, coupled with a thawing acknowledgement that Jim, only a few words ago, had implied that he was attracted to him. Jim. The man who he had been mooning over for more than a year with no hope of being corresponded. That Jim. But that didn’t make sense. They had spent a lovely Christmas together, yes, but Jim had only recently grown to tolerate his presence. And he had barely been in contact since he all but kicked him out after been disgusted with himself for killing a man with Oswald. It couldn’t be real.

“One word that applies?” Jim asked. “What’s another one?”

“Jim. You broke up with Lee just over a month ago. Isn’t this rather soon?”

“Maybe. But our relationship had been on the rocks for a while.”

“What about Barbara?”

Jim sighed, rubbing his forehead.

“I’m not still in love with her. Come on. She tried to kill me and Lee.”

That didn’t necessarily mean a damn thing and they both knew it.

“Look,” Jim continued. “I’m not on the rebound here. I’m not sure what I’m doing, but it’s not that. And it’s not like this is new.”

“Of course it’s new. You didn’t even like me until a month ago.”

“Oswald, I’ve been wanting you since you gave me that glass of champagne, alright? But I didn’t want to want you. That’s why I was an asshole to you.”

Oswald froze, gaping, then he jumped off the couch and rushed to put a good two yards between Jim and himself, his arms crossed tightly over his chest, barely holding himself together in one, shaking piece.

“You want me,” he said, voice nearly breaking in hysteria. “To be clear, when people use that phrase, they tend to mean sex.”

An awkward frown scrunched Jim’s brow.

“Well, yes.”

Oswald could scream. Jim stood up and Oswald flinched, jerking back a step.

“Are you okay?” Jim asked. ‘Why are looking at me like that?”

“I’m reacting, that’s all. This is a lot to process.”

“You look like you’re afraid of me.”

Distress pinched Jim’s face. Shit. Oswald forced his shoulders to relax a fraction and took a step forward.

“Of course I’m not afraid of you,” he said. “I trust you. It’s not you. It’s what you want.”

“What I want. Sex?”

Oswald nodded. 

“You don’t want to have sex with me?”

Oswald shook his head. Jim looked away, chagrined. He took a step back, hands fiddling awkwardly at his pockets. 

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I thought—But I guessed your feelings correctly, didn’t I? You confirmed it.”

“You did.” 

Oswald wished that he had something to wrap around his shoulders. Every bit of him felt frozen. 

“I love you,” he continued. “But I don’t want to have sex with you.”

“Oswald, that doesn’t make sense.”

Oh, for fuck’s sake. 

“Yes.” Oswald’s voice hardened. “It does actually make sense, Jim. Love doesn’t equal sex. Not for me.”

Oswald turned away.

“Wait here,” he said.

“Oswald, what—“

“Just wait here. Please.”

Limbs trembling, he rushed to the library, took one of the books, and returned to the living room.

“This term might also be new for you,” he said, handing Jim the book.

“Asexuality,” Jim read from the title. ‘What does that mean?”

“It means that I’m not having sex with you. Or anybody. I think it’d be best for you to read some of it and ask your questions later. I don’t have the energy for this right now. I’m feeling badly enough about mother and this isn’t helping.”

“Right. Sure.”

Oswald rushed out of the room. The tears didn’t wait, spilling out before he could reach the staircase. 

````````

Oswald spent the next two hours huddled in bed under a blanket pulled up around his chin. Every once in a while, he glanced at the pillow lying on the floor a few feet away, the one that Jim had used last night. After shoving his face in it to enjoy as much of Jim’s scent as he could, tears had pricked his eyes again, so he threw the pillow away from him. The instant it hit the hardwood, he regretted his action and jerked up. He couldn’t it leave it down there. It was disrespectful. Yet he couldn’t will his muscles to move forward to retrieve it. He sank back down and shoved the other pillow under his head. At one point, he got the intense craving to eat something, but that would also involve getting up, so he stayed where he was, shifting around from side to side, helpless and alone. Any minute now, Jim would knock on his door, take back everything he said, and insist that they just be friends, then flee as soon as the roads were clear. This visit was just a fluke. Jim had only sought him out for selfish reasons. Why should that change now? 

A knock rapped on the door. Oswald flinched.

“Oswald?” Jim called out.

Fuck. 

Oswald shut his eyes, sucked in a deep breath, then opened them again. There was no more avoiding it now.

“Tell me to go away if you’re not ready yet,” Jim continued. 

“Give me a moment,” he said, pushing himself upright.

Climbing off the bed, he picked up the pillow and straightened out the blankets as best he could so it wasn’t obvious that he had been draped on it like a rag, and patted down his clothes. He had failed to fix his hair in the morning, so he only swept his hair down as much as he could before opening the door. 

“Come in,” he said, stepping back.

Jim held the book in both hands in front of him, gripping it like a shield between himself and utter confusion, which showed on his wrinkled brow. Oswald closed the door behind him and crossed his arms, sitting back on the bed. Jim took a step towards him, but stopped himself. The sight made Oswald’s chest hurt, but his breath eased as Jim grabbed Oswald’s dressing chair and placed it a few paces away from Oswald, facing him. 

“So,” Jim said, tapping the book on his lap. 

He sat stiffly, his feet squarely on the floor. Oswald lowered his arms and rubbed his knees, scratching at the fabric. He’d been in life or death scenarios that were less tense than this.

“You read the book, then?” he asked, sitting up as straight as he could.

“Yes. Not all of it, but most of it. I had to read a couple of things twice. There’s a lot to take in. I didn’t know this was a thing. I mean… I’m sorry about my comment earlier. About you not wanting to have sex with me not making sense.”

Oswald nodded.

“I appreciate that,” he said.

He did. Truly. The knot choking his stomach loosened a little at Jim’s lack of hostility. Giving him the book and time to calm down had been the right move. 

“I’m still confused about a lot of this,” Jim said. “Some of it is rather vague. Not vague. Broad. General.”

“You want to know where on the spectrum I am.”

“Yes. I don’t want to assume anything.”

“Well, I’m asexual. Homoromantic. Sex-repulsed, which you’re probably not happy to hear.”

He certainly didn’t look it.

‘I thought you might be,” Jim said, “since you said you wouldn’t have sex with anyone.”

“It’s a personal thing. Everyone else is free to do whatever they want, of course. If it doesn’t affect me, why would I care? But I, intensely, want nothing to do with it. The thought of having sex is unpleasant and distressing. But that’s never been a problem. People aren’t attracted to me. They never have been. Excepting the possibility of me not noticing, like right now. With you.”

He waved a hand to indicate Jim, a hysterical giggle catching the end of his sentence.

“So you’ve never been in a relationship?” Jim asked.

“Please, there’s no need to sound so surprised. Plenty of people haven’t. Or are even interested in one.”

“Are you?”

Of course. But he had shelved that hope long ago, certain by his complete lack of experience in that department that it would never happen. He rubbed his fingers, worrying at his left thumb.

“I would be delighted,” he said.

He couldn’t read Jim’s face. He didn’t look upset by this, but Oswald had hoped that at least he would look glad. Perhaps it was all too much too soon. He was still too bogged down by processing it all.

“So,” Jim said, staring at the book cover before looking back at Oswald. “You want a romantic relationship without sex.”

“Yes.”

Jim fell back against his chair.

“I’m sorry. I’m still having trouble dividing romantic attraction from romantic attraction. I never heard of them as different things before.” He started flipping through the book. “And there’s three other ones in here.”

“For the record, I do feel aesthetic and sensual attraction. Both towards you.”

That got a relieved smile from Jim, tiny though it was.

“Oh,” he said. “That’s something, I guess.” He immediately shut his eyes in embarrassment. “I’m sorry. That came out wrong.”

Oswald sighed, frustration burning in his throat. 

“It would be nice if you didn’t look like this was all a big disappointment to you.”

“I’m processing this as best as I can. I knew you might say no, but how could I have known to expect this? Listen, I’m not trying to disrespect you.”

Like that would be new from him.

“You are what you are,” Jim continued. “That’s that. I’m not judging you. If I were, it would be over you building a criminal empire, not this. We killed a man together. I’m not going to cry because you don’t want to have sex with me. But my brain feels like it’s going to explode right now. I just need to understand this.”

“You don’t need to force yourself, you know. We’re obviously not progressing beyond friendship, so there’s no need to.”

“So you are saying no, then?”

“You’re the one saying no. You want sex. You framed your entire attraction to me around wanting sex with me. I have heard nothing about you having romantic feelings toward me. This would clearly never work.”

Jim closed the book and crossed his arms over his chest.

“You don’t know that.”

“Why do you want to be with me? If it’s not just sex, what is it?”

“I…” 

Jim looked away from Oswald, focusing on some point past his shoulder.

“I like you’re company,” he said. “I like spending time with you. Talking. Playing cards. Watching TV.”

“We can do all that as friends.”

“It wasn’t friendly feeling that prompted me to stay here last night.”

“What was it, then?”

Jim hesitated, looking down again.

“I’m not sure. I didn’t exactly stop and ask myself what the name of it was. I had never shared a bed with someone who I didn’t have sex with before you insisted that I share with you. It was weird at first. I always made sure not to creep onto your side of the bed. I didn’t want to accidentally do anything.”

 _Not always_ , Oswald thought, fondly remembering an arm wrapped around his waist.

“But it stopped feeling weird after a couple of nights,” Jim continued. “I’ve always liked sleeping next to someone. After I get used to it, it’s hard to sleep without someone there. I slept over at Lee’s most nights. I never could sleep well when I didn’t. Your presence helped.”

Oswald smiled, glad that he brought Jim some comfort. But it didn’t do much for him.

“Perhaps,” he said, “the fact that you have only slept with lovers and I’m not one is what is befuddling you. Excepting, of course, that you want me to be one.”

“I don’t want you to be if you don’t want to be. I’m not thinking in those terms anymore.”

But Jim was still sexually attracted to him. You couldn’t simply turn that off in a few hours, now could you? The idea of it felt like something slimy had splashed on Oswald’s skin and he yearned to flee the room to clean it off. But it wasn’t Jim’s fault. He couldn’t blame him for feeling the way he did, although he could have been a little more honest about it instead of shoving it behind a shield of rage and contempt for the better part of a year. 

“Which brings us back to the question at hand,” Oswald said.

“Look, I don’t know what to tell you. I like spending time with you. Things feel less muddy. Since I started making an effort to be a proper friend to you, it started happening on its own. And I like it.”

“Like I said, we could simply stay friends.”

“If you want. But I would like to try for more than that. It wasn’t about sex last night. I’m not going to lie and say that it never crossed my mind, but that wasn’t what I was looking for. I don’t know what is, but I would like to find out. Of course, I understand if you don’t want to.”

Oswald sat very still. He looked down at his hands folded on his lap, at the burgundy carpet beneath his feet, at the side table, anywhere but Jim’s face. For, if he did, he knew that he would say “yes”, and that it would be a mistake.

“I have to think about it,” he said instead, keeping his eyes averted.

Jim nodded.

“Of course.”

He stood up and placed the chair back by the dresser. 

“I’ll be downstairs,” he said, then left the Oswald alone to the turbulent sea of his thoughts. 

``````````

Oswald took his time to think. He arrived at the same conclusion that he had feared during his talk with Jim. That getting involved with him in this manner, whatever manner this was, was a bad idea. He couldn’t read Jim, couldn’t deduce any motivations for his desire for this other than his need to not be alone at night, and that was an appallingly insufficient amount of information. He had been forced to make snap decisions on less before, but this was not a life or death situation, so no such drastic course was necessary or wanted. Nor did he possess any experience in the matter, which irritated him to no end. How was he supposed to decide anything with such paltry evidence and no instincts to rely on? He knew what he wanted and what he didn’t, but little else. 

Once again, he examined what he did know. Jim didn’t want to be alone. He had begun a romantic relationship with Lee only a few months after breaking up with Barbara, who he had been with for at least two years, according to the press that he had found on the subject. Barely more than a month after Lee dumped him, Jim was knocking on his door looking for more of the same. The door of a man whom he had once shown nothing but contempt for. Was this about wanting to be with Oswald? Or about clinging to the nearest warm body who showed interest in him? Oswald had expected him to backtrack after discovering that he wouldn’t be getting sex from Oswald, yet he persisted, so it wasn’t only physical pleasure that he was looking for. What then? Oswald’s love? Why would he be interested in that? Did it matter that it was Oswald who loved him? Did it matter who loved him as long as someone did? 

Oswald loitered in his room, pacing around in frustration at the obviousness of the answer. Jim was needy and lonely, and he wanted to use Oswald to fill the role of dutiful significant other who would shower him with love so that he could feel better about himself. He was being his usual, selfish self, and he expected Oswald to come crawling to his side just like he had every other time. Oswald shouldn’t give in. Not this time. He wouldn’t be just a convenient escape for Jim. He should reject Jim outright. That’s what he needed to do. Nothing could be clearer. And yet, even knowing that this was absolutely true, as he reached for the doorknob, his palm grew sweaty and his breath shortened, regret clutching his chest, squeezing the air out of his lungs. 

He had a chance here, one that he had never dreamed would come. Ever. He had shelved his fantasies so long ago. Had he not also despaired of any real friendship between them? Had that miracle not come to pass? With an awkward gap in the middle, granted, but Jim’s pleasure at spending time with him yesterday was genuine. Of that, he was certain. Jim was too rotten a liar to pull that off, even if he had a need to. Could he turn away this offer? Could he really walk down the stairs, look Jim in the eye, and say no? 

``````

“I made some lists,” Oswald said, entering the study, legal pad in hand.

Jim looked up from his book. The book. Two others sat on the small table beside his chair, the only two on the subject that Oswald had managed to find. Oswald should probably have let him use his computer so that he could peruse some blogs, which would be far better, but there were too many things on it that Jim could stick his nose into that Oswald rather he wouldn’t. 

“What kind of lists?” Jim asked.

He put the book down and stood up, but Oswald waved him back down, sitting on the chair opposite. He tore off the first page of the legal pad and handed it to Jim.

“It’s a list of things I’d like in a relationship. Things I want to do, mostly. Some are experimental. I haven’t actually done any of these, so I may end up not liking some of them. I also made a separate list of things I’m not willing to do. You should look it over and we can discuss and see if we can work something out, since we’re not following the rules of a conventional romantic relationship as you know them.” 

And Oswald wasn’t convinced that the term even applied from Jim’s perspective.

“That’s a good idea,” Jim said. “Although, you know, I feel like I pushed this too hard on you. If you don’t want to do this, that’s fine. I’ll just back away.”

Fear spiked in Oswald’s stomach.

“Jim, my making this list should be answer enough that I want to give this a try. So please look it over.”

Jim regarded him for a moment, then gave him a little, half smile. Oswald chose to interpret it as a good sign.

“Okay,” he said. 

Oswald folded his hands in his lap as Jim perused the list, leaning forward. He tried sitting back, but he was too nervous to sit properly. He resisted the urge to rub his hands together or stare at Jim or jiggle his right foot like he sometimes did when a nerve-wracking situation that he couldn’t control was staring him in the face. Nothing in the first list should be objectionable. Unless Jim was the sort who didn’t appreciate cuddling if sex wasn’t involved. Oswald’s foot shifted. He clamped it down firmly on the floor. This is why he had placed it at the top of the list. So Jim would see it and object to it quickly if it wasn’t to his liking and Oswald could let go of his hope before it grew too cruelly large. But Jim kept reading the list with no complaint, so perhaps it would be fine. Or he was waiting until he was done to reveal the incompatibilities. Besides the obvious, of course. 

“I’m not opposed to anything here,” Jim said after a while.

Oswald sagged with relief.

“Good,” he said, tapping his fingers together. “That’s great.”

“Most of it is standard dating stuff. It’s very detailed.”

“I know. It feels a tad redundant, but I wanted to be as clear as possible.”

“You were.”

Jim read the bottom of the paper. The third list. The one that enumerated things that Jim doubtlessly loved to do.

“It can’t be anything you weren’t expecting,” Oswald said carefully.

“No, it’s not.” Jim began to read from the list. “No sex. No nudity, from either of us. No touching below your waist or above your knees. No being only in our underwear.”

Jim lowered the paper.

“Okay,” he said. “That’s fine. Nothing I couldn’t have guessed from our talk. Can I just ask something?”

“Of course. That’s what this talk is about. Communication is key for successful relationships, right?”

Or so he had heard.

“Right. And in the spirit of that, I usually sleep in boxers. Which is underwear, of course. I can continue to wear a shirt and exercise pants when I sleep with you. That’s fine.”

“Oh. Well, I suppose they are technically shorts. Briefs I couldn’t, but…”

“I don’t want to take you out of your comfort zone.”

“You’re not. They’re no different than swim trunks, I suppose, when you think about it.”

“So you would be fine with me sleeping in boxers? I can put on a shirt.”

“If you usually just sleep in boxers, have you being getting overheated wearing shirts while sharing the bed with me?”

“No.”

A hint in Jim’s tone rang untrue.

“Jim, this will only work if we’re honest with each other.”

Jim shifted the list in his hands.

“Maybe a little. I’ve always run a little hot. I don’t mean that in a sexual way. And it just occurred to me that you’re probably one of the few people who wouldn’t make a sex joke out of that.”

Oswald lowered his eyes, feeling the gulf of incomprehension yaw open between him and Jim. Of course he had heard this not risible at all joke before, endlessly tired at how the most basic word to describe a high temperature had been hijacked to denote something sexual to the point where any random idiot got a laugh out of it even when it was used in its primary definition. 

“No, I would not,” Oswald said, striving to keep his tone light and free of derision. It wasn’t Jim’s fault that they stood on opposing planes of perspective. And he was in the majority. He had been everyone, as far as Oswald thought before he had stumbled across that asexuality book in the New Books section of the library and had devoured half of it while sitting on one of the comfy chairs before purchasing a copy of his own. 

“I understand the joke most of the time,” Oswald continued. “I hear them often enough. They’re just not my cup of tea.”

Jim nodded. 

“Right. I’ll refrain, then. So, back to the boxers thing—“

“It’s fine with me, Jim. Really. As long as it’s not boxer briefs or briefs, it’s okay.”

“Okay.” 

Jim looked relieved. 

“About the shirt,” Oswald said.

“I can wear one.”

“I don’t want you to be uncomfortable. I know I can’t sleep if it’s too hot. I’m just glad that you didn’t say that you usually sleep naked.”

Jim rubbed the edge of the paper between his thumb and index finger. 

“Not usually,” he said, not meeting Oswald’s eyes.

Right. Jim didn’t bother getting dressed after having sex. Well, thank God that he wouldn’t have to deal with that. 

“The only thing about the shirt,” Oswald said, his right foot starting to shift, ”or lack of, rather, is that I… I hope you don’t expect me to remove mine as well.”

“No. That’s not what—I’m not fishing for a way to get you half-naked.”

“I’m glad to hear that. I just don’t want you to feel to that it’s unfair that I can see more of you than you can of me.”

“That’s not what I’m thinking at all. I don’t expect anything along those lines.”

“But I know you were, at least, you wanted to before,” Oswald waved his hand in the air, “this. That desire can’t go away in just a few hours.”

Jim sat back in his chair. It would be more fair to say that he collapsed under the weight of his dissatisfaction with the situation. 

“I’ll do my best to make sure I stop wanting it, okay?” he said. 

“I’m not asking you to. I just want to make sure that you don’t get frustrated.”

“I can’t promise you that. But that’s how relationships work. I know you like to plan six steps ahead, but that’s only going to go so far with this kind of thing.”

“I know that.” Oswald’s hands pressed painfully hard against each other. “I know. I realize that I have no personal experience in this matter, so I should defer to you, but I need to feel that at least one of my feet is touching the ground here because we just recently managed to cobble together a friendship and that is very important to me.”

Jim’s eyes softened.

“You won’t lose me if this doesn’t work,” he said, leaning forward in his chair. “Plenty of people stay friends after they break up. We’ll be fine either way.”

He touched Oswald’s left upper arm, squeezing gently. Oswald looked down at his hand. His own rose, automatically wishing to meet it. Should he? Why not? Jim was offering, wasn’t he? Jim appeared to be thinking the same thing, for he gazed at Oswald’s hand and lowered his own, fingers grazing Oswald’s elbow on the way down. He placed his palm atop Oswald’s knuckles. The touch of his skin froze Oswald’s breath. Excited sparks tingled in his skin, blood pumping in his ears as Jim turned his hand over, never leaving his, and met him palm for palm. The calloused tips of Jim’s fingers stroked his dry skin. Jim twined their fingers together, palm against palm. Oswald gaped at their joined hands in shock and fear and immense joy. 

“Handholding was on your list,” Jim said, a nervous note in his voice.

A grin burst on Oswald’s face, followed by what could only be characterized as a giggle. He nodded, curling his fingers tighter around Jim’s. 

“It was,” he said.

“I take it by your face that you like it.”

Oswald nodded again.

“I do.”

“Like” was wildly underselling the happiness dancing within him right now.

“I like it, too. You have nice hands. Can I say that? Is complimenting your appearance okay?”

The tingly sensation in Oswald’s belly intensified. 

“Yes. Of course.”

No one had complimented his appearance before, except mother. He liked it. 

“Okay. I don’t want you to think that I’m thinking about that when I say you look nice.”

Oswald shook his head.

“I know it’s not all about that. I appreciate your beauty without wanting sex.”

Jim raised his brow.

“My what? I don’t think I’ve heard that one before.”

“Then people haven’t been complimenting you properly.”

Jim smiled.

“I appreciate your beauty, too.”

Heat rose up Oswald’s neck. People didn’t think of him as beautiful. He was the funny looking kid with the beak-like nose and the weird hair. But Jim meant it. There was no subterfuge in his eyes. And there had been a reason for his lust back at the club. The glow burning inside him stuttered, but he rallied and clung to it. If sexual attraction was all there was to it, Jim wouldn’t be here holding his hand.

“Thank you,” he said.

“You’re welcome. Well, if nothing else works out, at least we know that we like holding hands.”

“Yes. That’s good to know.”

A thought cut through his happiness, sudden and as cutting as a knife rending flesh. 

Mother. 

He had forgotten about her. He shouldn’t be feeling this happy. It was too soon. Even when he’d been glad with Jim before, she had always been at the back of his mind, his grief always mixed in, but now she had completely vanished. He was betraying her memory. But no, of course he wasn’t. It just felt like it. Mother wouldn’t want him to be sad forever. He knew this. Of course he did, yet it still didn’t feel right that he should be happy without feeling sad as well when she was so recently dead.

“Oswald? What’s wrong?” Jim asked, concerned.

Oswald squeezed Jim’s hand, but he couldn’t bring himself to meet his eyes. He shook his head, forcing his swelling vocal chords to function.

“I’m just happy,” he said, his voice not quite steady. “Then I remembered mother. I forgot about her and I feel that I shouldn’t have.”

Understanding lit Jim’s eyes. He gripped the back of Oswald’s hand with his left, encasing it in his comforting warm. Oswald’s breath hitched. 

“You feel bad for not being at least a little sad all the time,” Jim said. Gazing at their joined hands. “I remember that. It’s the hardest thing to get over. I didn’t handle it well. It took me a long time to get over that hurdle.”

“How long?”

Jim shrugged.

“I’m not sure. Months. Maybe a year. It’s a little fuzzy. And I was thirteen, so I don’t know if the usual teenage angst crap had anything to do with it. I couldn’t have told you what kind of pain was what. It didn’t matter. It all felt the same in the end. It didn’t really all go away. But you’re not me and you’re an adult, so it might be completely different for you. I hope it is.”

Jim rubbed the back of Oswald’s hand with his thumb in gentle, soothing motions. Tears pricked his eyes. God, how could he cry so much without dying of dehydration?

“Can I rest my head on your shoulder?” Oswald asked.

That had been another item on the list.

“Yes, of course.”

But the chairs they were in weren’t designed for such a purpose. The arms were too high, too wide, so Oswald stood and led Jim to the living room, which was thankfully the next door down the hall. They sat on the couch and Oswald laid his head on Jim’s left shoulder, hands still gripped tightly. He curled into Jim as closely as he could, sinking into his warmth as Jim encircled Oswald’s shoulders with his left arm. He brushed away a tear with his free hand, but they were coming hard now and he didn’t want to stop them anymore. 

“You can cry on me,” Jim said. “It’s okay. Soak my shirt all you want.”

Oswald grimaced a smile, and did just that. 

```````````  
Oswald blew his nose as Jim got him another glass of water from the kitchen. He tossed the dirty tissue into the trash can by the door and took out a new one from the box. His stupid nose wouldn’t stop sniffling. He had run through so many tissues this month that he had started buying them in bulk and placing them in every room he was ever in, all hidden under decorative boxes that fit in with the décor. The holder clacked against the tabletop as he yanked it off the tissue box and took the tissues to the couch. 

Jim’s footsteps announced his return to the room. Oswald looked up as he approached.

“Here you go,” Jim said, holding out the glass.

Oswald took it and drank, soothing the thirst clawing at his throat, one of the many annoyances he had to deal with in his pain. A quarter of the water was left when he lowered the cup. He’d finish it in a bit. He held the cup between both hands on his lap, gazing numbly at the transparent liquid sitting placidly in the equally transparent glass, a simple necessity that he had been fine ignoring until Jim insisted that he needed to hydrate after a cry like that.

“I wish you would let me put your shirt in the dryer,” Oswald said, glancing at the sizeable wet spot on Jim’s shoulder.

“It’s fine.” Jim rubbed at the spot, flicking the cloth as if the discomfort didn’t matter. “It’ll dry on its own soon enough.”

Catching Oswald’s gaze, Jim raised his left hand and touched Oswald’s hair with the tips of his fingers. He stroked up Oswald’s forehead and back along his head. Oswald’s breath seized in his throat, still shocked that Jim would willingly touch him.

“Is this okay?” Jim asked. “It was on your list. The first one.”

Oswald almost nodded, but he didn’t want to dislodge Jim’s fingers. Each glide through his hair sent little sparks of joy through his sore skin. 

“It’s okay,” he said. “It’s good.”

Grief clung to him, but he allowed some of it to loosen its grip, believing Jim’s assurances that it wasn’t a betrayal to do so. Jim continued to massage his head, slowly exploring Oswald’s scalp. Oswald leaned into his hand, his eyes closing. He was so tired, but Jim’s touch gave him a bit of strength, calming his aching nerves. He breathed more easily with every moment. 

A loud stomach gurgle interrupted their reverie. Oswald opened his eyes, meeting Jim’s chagrined face. Embarrassment colored his awkward smile. 

“Sorry,” he said, lowering his hand.

“How long have you been hungry?” Oswald asked.

“Not that long. It sounds worse than it is.”

Oswald looked at the clock on the opposite wall. Breakfast had been five hours ago. His appetite was dead half the time, so he hadn’t noticed.

“You’re my guest,” Oswald said, standing up. “I won’t have you go hungry. And your stomach doesn’t growl like that if you’re just a little hungry. Come on.”

Oswald dragged him into the kitchen, where the chef had already made them their lunch and heated it up for them. Oswald wasn’t hungry, but Jim insisted that Oswald needed to eat, too, so they compromised and Oswald had the chef serve him a small bowl of split pea soup. They ate in the living room. It was becoming a little routine of theirs. The thought made Oswald smile, pleasure sparking in his stomach. Did he dare to hope for future lunches enjoyed together in this very room, pleasant smiles, “how was your day”s and debating what to watch on TV before turning in for the night? But he was getting ahead of himself, the trunk of fantasies he had kept firmly locked in his mind bursting open. Their relationship, whatever it consisted of now, was too new, too tender to be certain of anything. Jim might rethink this and back out at any moment. Best not set his hopes too high. It might never come to be. 

“Are you sure you don’t want more food?” Jim asked, watching Oswald pick at his plate.

Oswald shook his head, forcing himself to swallow a spoonful of soup. It was delicious, like always, but did nothing to return his appetite.

“I’ll have more later. I’m not hungry at all. Some days I can’t stop eating, but today isn’t one of those. But you don’t have to worry about me wasting away. I’m already considering having my tailor make me some new waistcoats. They’re feeling a little tight.”

“I noticed you looked a little rounder. Not that that’s a bad thing. You looked too thin last time I saw you.”

“When you wouldn’t stop force feeding me?”

“Someone had to.”

Oswald sighed, scooping up another bit of soup.

“I suppose.”

“My mom. She, well, she didn’t have days when she couldn’t stop eating. That was all me. She lost a lot of weight. Too much. I’m glad that’s not the case with you. Popping a few buttons is better than that.”

“Oh. Yes. I guess that is true. Well, you don’t have to worry about me being too thin anytime soon.”

“Good.”

Jim took another bite of his chicken, gazing down at his plate. His chewing slowed, fork dropping as a shadow passed over his face.

“Jim?”

Jim resumed his chewing, but he didn’t look up.

“Hmm?” he murmured.

“What’s wrong?”

Jim shook his head.

“Nothing.”

“I’m not going to insist if you don’t want to tell me, but you don’t have to hold back with me. The honesty between us today proves that.”

Jim finished chewing, but he didn’t take another bite yet. He raised his eyes to Oswald’s, then dropped his gaze again. 

“It sounds a little bad,” he said.

“I highly doubt that you’ll shock me.”

“I was thinking about what you said about not having a grave to go to. I do, but… I don’t go. I haven’t since I was a teenager. Mom used to make me, but I never did on my own. I never felt connected to him there. I tried talking to him the way other people do, but it didn’t work for me. I just didn’t feel like he was there. So I don’t go. I know it sounds terrible, but that’s how it is.”

Oswald placed his hand over Jim’s.

“That’s not terrible,” Oswald said. “You manage this differently than me, that’s all. You know that’s not the first thing we don’t coincide in.”

Jim stared at their joined hands. After a moment, he put his left hand over Oswald’s.

“Yeah,” he said. “Thanks.”

He didn’t smile, but the tension in his jaw loosened.

“I really wish you had a grave to visit,” he continued. “I had the department look for her, but we failed.”

A knot instantly formed in Oswald’s throat. Jim had looked for his mother. He had been that kind.

“I didn’t know that,” he said, knowing that Jim could hear the tears in his voice.

“I didn’t want to get your hopes up by telling you.”

“Well. I appreciate the effort nonetheless.”

```````````` 

When they finished eating, Jim returned the plates to the kitchen, despite Oswald’s insistence that he didn’t have to. He could call someone to come get them, but Jim said something about not being used to servants picking up after him and that it was totally fine. Besides, he wanted to grab a beer while he was in the kitchen. Giving up, Oswald grabbed his own dish to help out, and led the way. He didn’t particularly wish to be alone in the room with nothing but his dark thoughts to keep him company. It came and went, this pressing need to have someone at his side. Most of the time, his desire went unfulfilled. But now that they were finding their feet with their new arrangement – no, relationship – he allowed himself to indulge it a little. 

Except, what if Jim felt that Oswald was crowding him? He didn’t want to invade Jim’s personal space. They might have different needs as far as that was concerned. Both of them had very time consuming professions, so overcrowding wasn’t likely to be a problem on a regular day, but what about days off like this one? They should discuss this. Make sure they were on the same page. All the blogs he had read said so. But those comments referred specifically to sexual comfort levels, not the rest of the relationship. And Jim had said that relationships didn’t operate by having every, little detail hashed out and sorted at the beginning. They were unpredictable. And Jim would know. He was the only one here with any experience in the matter.

Still, as much as Oswald thrived on improvisation, he needed to have some expectations firmly under his feet, even if one of them was that Jim would probably grow frustrated with the lack of sex and leave. Which is why he had made the list. Now, they couldn’t try out every item on it today (the strolling at the park one would have to wait until spring, for one), but the sooner he confirmed some of the items on his experimental list, the better for both of them. Especially one particular one.

“I want to kiss you,” Oswald said, turning toward Jim after leaving the glasses on the counter. 

Jim stared at him, the dish he was carrying halfway into the sink. It reached the ceramic bottom with a sudden clink.

“Now?” he asked.

Oswald sagged a little.

“If you want. We don’t have to if you don’t.”

“No. I mean yes. I do want to.” Jim turned fully to face him. “I was going to bring it up later. I thought you might not.”

“Why not? I put it on the list.”

“I thought that might be a concession for me.”

And so it could turn out to be.

“I can’t guarantee you that I will like it. But I am curious.”

Jim’s face lifted a little.

“Okay. Do you want me to brush my teeth first? I don’t want to turn you off the whole concept with my chicken breath.” 

Oh. He hadn’t even thought of that. He kicked himself for not doing so. Even he knew this much from reading novels, but lack of experience dampened the bulb from lighting up in his brain. 

“You don’t have to,” he said. “I’m sure it’ll be fine. Unless you want me to wash mine.”

“No. That’s fine, too. Besides, I like split pea soup.”

Good. Although, why would that matter? It wasn’t like Oswald had left any on his lips. Oh. Open mouth kissing. That was a thing. Well, Oswald wasn’t opposed to trying it. Not completely. He didn’t particularly like the sight of it, but that didn’t determine personal enjoyment, did it? Doubt tapped his spine, but he brushed it off. This was an experiment, anyway. 

He stepped towards Jim, hands hanging awkwardly at his sides. He reached for the counter to steady himself, but aborted the nervous gesture halfway through. Jim approached him, as well. They had only been about a yard apart when Oswald proposed this, so two steps was all it took for them to be mere inches from each other. From here, their slight height difference was more apparent, and Oswald had to tilt his head up to meet Jim’s suddenly nervous eyes. Jim touched Oswald’s left cheek, the tips of his fingers resting below Oswald’s ear. The warmth of his hand comforted Oswald. Should he touch Jim, too? He put his right hand on Jim’s nape. Jim leaned into his touch for a second, then tilted his head down and met Oswald’s lips. 

Oh. So this is what kissing felt like. It was nice. Not wow or over the moon or any of the poetic language that he had so often heard about kissing, but he didn’t hate it like he had feared he might. It was gentle, the slightest rubbing of lips. He had never experienced such a tactile sensation on his mouth before. It wasn’t at all like he had surmised it might be, although lip skin was very different from that on the rest of his body, so it stood to reason that the feeling would be different. He had enjoyed hand holding more, but this wasn’t bad.

Then Jim opened his mouth, and the taste of chicken and asparagus hit Oswald’s tongue. Only sheer force of will overrode his instincts and kept him from jerking back. That didn’t taste anywhere near as good on someone else’s mouth. This wasn’t pleasant at all. Oh God, Jim wasn’t going to put his tongue inside his mouth, was he? Oswald pulled back, breaking the contact.

“I’m sorry,” he said, glimpsing the uneasiness on Jim’s face. “I didn’t mean to end it like that.” 

His right hand had unconsciously shifted from Jim’s face to his shoulder to hold him back, but Jim wasn’t moving. Oswald almost dropped his hand, uneasy about what the gesture signified.

Jim shook his head.

“You didn’t like it,” he said, his voice thick with… hurt? Disappointment? “I’m the one who’s sorry. You didn’t back away, so I kept going, but you weren’t moving, either. Obviously, you didn’t like it. I should have known better.”

Jim lowered his hands and moved away, letting Oswald’s own hand slide off him. 

No. Jim was getting the wrong impression. This wasn’t what Oswald wanted.

“I didn’t like the open mouth part, but the first one was fine. I mean, it wasn’t bad.”

“Not bad,” Jim murmured, crossing his arms over his chest. 

Oswald mentally winced at the action. 

“It was nice. I liked it. Look, I’m not trying to hurt your feelings.”

“I know.”

“And there was a high possibility that I wouldn’t like any of it. I’ve never done this before. And it didn’t feel like what I expected at all, not that I knew what to expect, really. I had nothing but second hand descriptions to go on. And what do you mean about me not moving? Was I supposed to?”

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he remembered scenes of jilted lovers who surmised that the other person wasn’t attracted to them because they didn’t return their kiss. Fuck, he was so tired of stumbling around in an invisible maze with endlessly crooked corners that he didn’t understand. He hated not knowing anything about what he was doing. 

“Never mind,” he said, crossing his own arms, resisting the urge to lean against the counter for support. “I figured it out. It’s my own, damn fault for not knowing what I’m doing.”

Jim’s face softened.

“I’m not faulting you for that,” he said. “I know you don’t know about this. I didn’t know what I was doing during my first kiss, either. What I meant was, in a kiss, people usually move their lips together. It’s not just one person doing everything, unless it’s a quick peck or something like that.”

‘Okay. Well, I didn’t think of that. Um, do you want to try again?”

“We don’t have to rush it.”

Jim was closing himself off. Was Oswald being paranoid or was Jim leaning away from him? He was looking down at the counter, resignation shadowing his face. Oswald took a small step forward and placed his right hand on the counter near Jim. Not too close. Touching Jim directly might force him away. His open, conciliatory question had only served to irritate Jim even more. Jim was questioning their arrangement. He was. Doubt was painfully clear in his lowered eyes. He was regretting the whole thing. 

“It’s not rushing it,” Oswald said, keeping his voice light and free of the fear gnawing under his skin. “We’re just trying again.”

“You already said that you don’t like open mouth kissing.”

Jim didn’t quite meet his eyes.

“That’s the type I like,” he finished. 

Oswald shrank back. His hand fell off the counter.

“Oh.”

The utterance escaped him in a low, despairing exhalation. He tucked his hands into his pockets, bunching his fingers together, and turned away before Jim saw the discomfort on his face. 

“Okay,” he said, stepping around the island in the middle of the kitchen toward the door. “Well, that’s that, then.” 

“Oswald.”

“No, it’s fine. I’ll just go take it off the list.”

He ducked through the door before Jim could say anything else and returned to the living room. He took a pen from his pocket and crossed off kissing from the list. His hand stalled at the end of the sharp line, the point of the pen pressed miserably against the paper. It wasn’t lack of kisses that made him avert his eyes from the words on the yellow page. The initial sensation had been nice, but he wouldn’t be heartbroken not to experience it again.

Jim didn’t want to kiss him the only way that Oswald enjoyed being kissed. There was the worrying rub. First he had disappointed Jim with no sex and now they couldn’t even find a compromise on kissing. This experiment was doomed before it began. There stood the possibility that kissing wasn’t that important to Jim, yet disappointment had pinched his face. Of course it mattered to him.

Jim’s footsteps sounded on the hallway behind him. The list crinkled in Oswald’s hand as he placed it back on the table. He looked over his shoulder, but lowered his eyes before he could perceive more than Jim’s outline, tucking the pen into his pocket.

“I didn’t mean for you to cross it off,” Jim said.

“It’s fine,” Oswald said, reluctantly facing him.

“No one who says it’s fine like that is actually fine. I didn’t say no to trying again.”

“You might as well have. I don’t like the kind of kissing you like. You don’t care for the one I do. That feels like a final answer to me. I don’t see the point in belaboring this.”

“I expressed myself wrong.”

_Yes, you did._

Jim approached Oswald and placed his hands on either side of his face. Oswald leaned into the touch despite himself, the memory of his nervous hope from only a few minutes ago echoing on his skin. 

“We can try again,” Jim said.

Oswald grabbed Jim’s wrists and lowered his head before Jim could move in. 

“Maybe you’re right and we shouldn’t rush it,” he said.

Jim frowned.

“What?”

“I offered for you, not me. I’m okay without this. And I’m not going to like it any better this time around.”

“You said you liked the first part.”

“You implied that you didn’t.”

Jim sighed, a frustrated huff of breath.

“I didn’t mean it like that. I want to try again.”

Oswald met his eyes, looking for any sign of hesitation or dissembling. He didn’t see any. That didn’t mean that it wasn’t there, but he nodded, resigned. Jim leaned forward. Oswald did as well, although he wished that he could have stalled for a few more seconds, for the instant that Jim’s lips touched his, stress tickled up his spine and in his stomach. He had to actively participate this time, but he had no idea what to do. It didn’t even feel as pleasant this time around. His nerves were squeezed too tight. He moved his mouth a little, sure that he was doing it wrong. Jim wasn’t doing much, either, just brushing their lips together. It was nice for a few seconds, but it didn’t hold Oswald’s interest. He shouldn’t have put it on the list. But he had honestly had no idea if he’d like it or not.

After too long, Jim lifted his head.

“How was that?” he asked.

Oswald struggled between giving a rosy answer or the truth. Jim sensed his reluctance.

“Let me guess,” he said, lowering his hands. “It was okay.”

Oswald suppressed a sigh.

“I liked it better the first time,” he said.

“The disastrous first time?”

“I was less nervous. I didn’t know what I was doing just now. This is why I wanted to wait.”

“You’re not going to learn by waiting.”

“No, but I’m also not going to magically like this any more because you want me to.”

“That’s not what I’m doing.”

“Did you enjoy the kiss just now?”

Jim hesitated.

“It was better than the first one.”

“You don’t sound terribly convinced.”

“I don’t know how to kiss you how you want me to.”

Jim took a full step back this time, crossing his arms.

“I don’t want you to. I don’t not want you to. I’m trying to arrive at a compromise. I can’t give you sex, so I’m trying to give you this. I am trying, Jim. But I can’t magically like what I don’t.”

“What don’t you like about open mouth kissing? I’m not being defensive. I’m just trying to understand why it makes you so uncomfortable.”

“It felt unpleasant. You weren’t wrong about the food taste. Maybe we should have brushed our teeth first. And the feel of it was odd. It didn’t do anything for me. And I was afraid that you were going to put your tongue in my mouth. The thought of it feels invasive. I’ve read descriptions of it, from people who enjoy it, even, but it doesn’t sound pleasing to me.”

Jim tilted his head down, which drove a flare of panic up Oswald’s spine. Yet Jim didn’t look displeased, just pensive. 

“Okay,” Jim said. 

He turned away. Oswald almost rushed after him, but Jim only pulled a chair from the table and sat down, facing Oswald, though he still looked away. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands rubbing together.

“I guess that’s that,” he said. “Best know now where we stand.”

Oswald put his hand on the table to steady himself, biting down the urge to apologize for not being a compliant member of society. He had long ago dispensed of such guilty notions, about this and anything else. 

“I didn’t set out to disappoint you,” he said instead. “But I can’t enjoy something that it isn’t in my nature to do.”

“I know.”

Oswald heard no resentment in his tone. That was the only comfort he could get. 

His right knee flared with pain. He pulled up the chair beside him and sat down on the opposite side of the table from Jim, stretching out his leg, his hands curled up in his lap, fingers wound tightly together. He felt Jim’s eyes on him, but didn’t raise his own, fear driving them down to some non-descript spot on the floor. Any moment now. Sooner or later, probably sooner, Jim would realize what a mistake he made in asking for a relationship with him and he would beg to retreat and wipe the slate clean. It was coming. He knew it. Jim knew it. His face was no longer as unreadable as it had been before. Oswald should just declare an end to it himself, but he didn’t have the strength to. 

After a long, ulcer-inducing while, Jim stood up, carried the chair over to Oswald, and sat down in front of him, so close that their knees touched.

“Do you mind if I…” he asked, picking up the chair again and scooching further forward. The chair legs scraped the wooden floor, but Oswald paid that no heed, for Jim’s left leg was sliding between both of his. He was sitting straight up in his chair, so Jim’s approaching knee was in no danger of touching certain areas, which Oswald hoped he had taken into account. 

“Is this to close?” Jim asked.

Oswald considered a moment, then shook his head.

“No.”

“I want to try something.” 

Jim placed his hands on Oswald’s nape. Oswald sucked in a nervous breath.

“I’m not going to kiss you,” Jim said.

Oswald’s muscles relaxed. It was too soon for that again. But, if this wasn’t a kiss, then what… 

Oh. Jim had leaned forward and pressed his forehead against Oswald’s. Their noses brushed together. Jim closed his eyes and rested there in silence. Oswald had seen this, but he hadn’t considered it. It felt so much nicer than the kiss. Much more intimate. He closed his eyes and put his hands on Jim’s shoulders. One slid up to touch his hair, resting among the warm strands. They breathed together, calm. Peaceful. The dread that had previously overwhelmed him dissolved, joy blooming in its place. This was what he wanted. What he needed. And Jim had discovered it all on his own. He feared still that it might not be enough, but Jim wanted to keep trying. This proved it. That meant the world to him. It meant everything. 

“You like this?” Jim asked, not moving.

“Oh, yes.”

“Good. I’m glad.”

“Can we stay like this a little longer?”

“Of course.”

Oswald allowed himself to sink into the comfort of Jim’s skin, breathing him in. Jim’s fingers rubbed gently up his hairline, then lied still, comfortable where they were. 

After a while, Oswald gave Jim a short kiss on the lips and shifted his head back. Jim gazed at him bemusedly. 

“You kissed me,” Jim said, a question in his voice. 

“I told you, I liked the short ones. And this. This was wonderful. Thank you.”

He gripped Jim’s right hand, which still rested on Oswald’s shoulder.

“You wanted a compromise, so I tried to think of something that we would both like and, given the things on your list, I thought this would be a good bet.”

“It was an excellent bet.”

Jim lowered his hands from Oswald’s shoulders, taking Oswald’s hand with him. 

“I’m glad that we found something that worked. I know this isn’t going to be easy. I’m not taking this lightly.”

“I know.”

Oswald’s earlier thoughts about breaking it off before they brought each other further pain brushed his mind, but he shoved them away. He had this now. Even if it turned out to be only for a brief moment, he had this. 

`````````````

To avoid any further unpleasant discoveries for the moment, they agreed to leave the experimental list alone for the rest of the day, and stuck to the “want to do” section. Oswald massaged Jim’s shoulders and Jim returned the favor by massaging Oswald’s right foot and calf, which were aching more than usual thanks to the horrid, chilled humidity. Jim complimented the shape of his toes. “Pretty”, he called them. Oswald accepted the praise, a niggling part of him still amazed that Jim found this much to admire about his appearance. His toes were okay-looking, he supposed. Long and thin like his fingers. But Jim’s touch lingered on his skin, his gaze examining the shape of Oswald’s foot with such surprising caring that Oswald didn’t doubt his sincerity for a moment. 

As the night wound down, they decided to go to bed early, not to sleep, but to cuddle. Oswald harbored no worries over this activity. They had held hands and massaged and leaned against each other plenty already, but there was one additional wrinkle this time around.

“Are you sure that you’re fine with me taking off my shirt?” Jim asked as Oswald took out his pajamas.

“Yes.”

Oswald congratulated himself on not showing the mild trepidation that itched at the back of his neck. It really was fine. If it weren’t, he would say so. But Jim had never been mostly undressed around him before and they would be pressed together in bed. Despite all Jim’s protestations to the contrary, unbidden thoughts occurred all the time. The human body had the most irritating habit of reacting in the most inconvenient ways (God, if he could murder his sex drive, he would). And since Jim couldn’t possibly have squashed his desire to do certain things with him in less than twelve hours, combine that with instinct or whatever ruled stubborn hormones, and things might turn not so pleasant. But Jim wouldn’t disrespect Oswald’s wishes. Oswald trusted him. So it was fine. He didn’t want Jim overheating through the night. 

Besides, as hypocritical as this felt to him given that he wasn’t comfortable unclothing his own torso, or not yet, in any case, he was curious. Jim filled out a suit rather well. While Oswald had never experienced those urges everyone around him seemed to, he did possess a keen eye for aesthetics. It had been quite a challenge not to stare at Jim’s beauty for minutes on end. Yet he feared that it might be misinterpreted. So, when he exited the bathroom, he resolved only to glance quickly and no more, but he needn’t have worried, for Jim was already tucked into bed, the blanket up under his arms, showing only his bare shoulders. They were nice shoulders. A small scar crisscrossed his left clavicle, pale and thin. Oswald touched his own shoulder. His scar was much less savory. But then, Jim had seen all of that business in its messy, bloody glory. He had already seen Oswald unclothed so he could tend to his wound and clean him up, although Jim assured him that he had never touched his underwear. He had only changed him into sweatpants because Oswald’s had been covered in blood. 

He approached the bed, pulled back the covers with a smile, and climbed in, warm jitters of anticipation shooting through his skin as he did so. Good thing he had rolled up to his sleeves to his elbows. Although his feet were cold. Oh, wonderful. Really, there was no need to be this nervous. Jim’s expression was open and kind and he had always asked if it was okay to touch him anywhere he hadn’t already done so. 

“What do you want to do?” Jim asked.

See? It would be fine.

“Well, I’ve thought of quite a few things, obviously.”

Yet his mind had been wiped clean within the last minute. He couldn’t think of anything beyond, _I just want to hold you._

“I’d like to rest my head on your shoulders,” he said.

“Okay. That sounds nice.”

“Yes.”

Oswald scooched forward. Jim did so as well, reaching for him, but his hand stopped halfway.

“You said above your waist I don’t have to ask, right?” Jim asked.

“Yes.”

“Okay.”

Jim placed his hand on the center of Oswald’s back, hugging him forward. Oswald did the same, reaching under Jim’s arm, although he touched him further up between his shoulder blades. Jim’s warmth was a comfort to his chilled skin.

“I apologize for my cold hands,” Oswald said.

He should have rubbed some heat into them before he got into bed, but that never lasted long. 

“You don’t have to apologize,” Jim said, raising up his head above Oswald’s own. “So you happen to have cold hands. It’s not horrible.”

No. He supposed not. He ducked his head down to Jim’s collarbones and rested it there just beneath his neck. Up this close, with his nose pressed against him, he could smell that unique scent that was all Jim, the same that he had nestled in so gratefully during some of the worst days of his life in Jim’s apartment. This mark of Jim’s presence had been one of the few things to bring him comfort in those harsh days while his eyes filled with tears. He wasn’t crying now. His mother’s memory clung to him as tightly as ever, but he didn’t push away the happiness blooming in his soul. He wasn’t betraying her by enjoying this. He finally came to terms with that, instead of simply examining it as a rational voice in his head that he couldn’t bear to look at. It was alright to let her go for a bit. To let himself rest. To hope that the future might not be so bleak as what came before. Jim rubbed his back, his hand trialing through Oswald’s hair. Oswald closed his eyes. Maybe happiness was possible, after all.


End file.
